


The Contentment Found In The Healing Hands Of The One You Love

by r_j_l



Series: Forging The Broken Pieces Of Us Into Something Better [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya's ok with it, Dany is pregnant, Discussion of feelings, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Healing, If Gendry Was There, Jamie kills Cersei, Love, Marriage Proposal, Post Battle for King’s Landing, Romantic Fluff, Safety, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Utilizing the Assassin Correctly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 20:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20699231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_j_l/pseuds/r_j_l
Summary: Gendry taking care of her wounds while she takes care of his; that's the only thing she needs. After fighting in the battle that ends the war, after watching the last person on her list breathe their last breath, after living when she thought she was going to die, all she needs is Gendry.





	The Contentment Found In The Healing Hands Of The One You Love

She allows herself a few glimpses of him, sneaking into the encampment with the face of the Frey servant. More to torture herself than anything else.

Carefully observing the planning of the attack while giving water to those gathered. He always says thank you, one of the few who do.

Only Jon and a few key Northmen know she's around, she leaves notes in Jon's tent when she has information to share that will assist with the planning. She leaves notes on the bodies too, the mad queen's spies before they can return to the city with information and an assassin or five that no longer breathe air. She takes a couple of their faces.

She reveals herself only once to Jon two days before the attack. Pealing off the face she wears, he doesn't seem surprised in the slightest which is comforting. She tells him of her list and her plans with Sandor about the Mountain and Cersei. If they succeed, he needs to be able to call off Daenerys and the dragons when the bells begin ringing. After a hug from her best brother, she puts the face back on and departs.

Stopping at his tent before she leaves, she stands outside it for what feels like an age. This, him, it's a vulnerability she's coming to terms with, a vulnerability she wants.

He looks up at her from where he's sitting at a table as she enters, but what he has before him on the table does surprise her. Her staff, fixed after the battle apparently, it makes her almost break when she sees it. "Just bringing you water m'lord."

He thanks her again because of course he does before crossing to where she left the last pitcher of water. It's because she hates herself that she reaches out to touch him as he walks past her. She only wants to be held, to for a moment, allow her facade to fade, to be no one but Arya. 

He must see it her movement, stepping away from her, he doesn't look at her, before turning away. "Please don't. I'm in love. I won't dishonor her,” his voice cracking.

She desperately wishes she had the time to explain herself to him. Dropping the voice for a moment, she becomes herself again and says, "I love you too. Be safe, Gendry." while grabbing the staff off the table.

"Arya," she hears him whisper it into the air, but he must not turn around till she's already gone.

Stepping around another tent and taking the staff apart to better conceal it before switching faces and leaving past the northern guards that know what she's up to.

\------

She walks out of the Red Keep with fucking Jamie Lannister of all people; they're both covered in Cersei's blood. Watching as her loaned dagger was stabbed in that mad woman's back didn't feel as good as she expected. She was able to give the command to ring the bells, now that did feel like a victory.

After fighting her way out of the city because some Lannister men can't take orders for shit, she goes back to the encampment; this is the first time she's walked it with her own face. Not hiding at all is foreign; it leaves her feeling vulnerable. She makes her way to his tent and lays down on the grass a little bit inside. Her heart can't stop pounding, the sound of it fills her ears more than the bells do, the tears that start to fall don't help with that at all. She lets herself cry for Sandor, for her pack.

She cries for what feels like an hour, though she's sure it must only be half that at most. It has been a long time since she's cried. 

She hears him before she sees him, speaking to someone, his voice weary. She doesn't even comprehend what he's saying just that he's close. Then and only then does she let go of the grip she has on the staff halves. She is finally safe now.

There was a glorious minute where they fought side by side, but then they had been separated on the way to the gate.

Keeping her eyes closed, she hears the fabric of the tent as it is pushed back. This will be the first time he will see her, truly her, in months because on a battlefield does not count. She's prepared for him to scream at her or to storm out, he curiously does neither.

There's a quiet minute, and she can't wait any longer needing to see him with her own eyes in a moment of peace for the first time since they parted in that dammed storeroom.

He's got a cut on his jaw; it's the first thing she notices, that and his eyes staring at her. They're both cut to pieces, but gods, she has never wanted him more. Blood lust maybe, but more likely it's just her body and heart telling her to never leave him again.

Watching as he steps around her, dropping his hammer before he begins to take off his armor, her fingers twitch, wanting to be the one to do it for him instead. "How are your ribs, saw that guy elbow you pretty bad?" he asks and the words startle her out of her head.

Where he's talking about only feels like a large bruise, but once her body slows down, she'll be better able to tell if anything is truly wrong. She'd know if they were broken.

"I'll be all right," she answers softly, "Is your arm the worst of it?" She was there when it happened, heard his scream from a few yards away.

"Some shit pulled it out of its socket," he laughs probably thinking more about the moments after that instead of how it happened.

"I know, he's dead now," she remembers it too, sticking the soldier through the back with her pointed staff as the weight of his war hammer crushed his head at the same moment. "Do you need me to..." she motions toward him and sits up right now on the grass.

He shakes his head and steps closer to her, "No, it's back in place, just sore." He flexes his fingers of his off-hand for her, as if to say, see, good as new.

"It's done then? The list," she can hear it in his voice, the fear that it's not over.

"Seems to be," she says, laying back down on the grass.

"What will you do now before going to sleep, recite all the names of those you killed?" He's teasing her, but she wants him to, wants this to feel normal for them, between them.

"I'd fall asleep halfway through the list of Freys." It's a serious answer but one that makes him smile anyway.

He's down to just a shirt and pants now, and that want she feels wishing it were even between them is palpable, she wants her own leather's off but is lacking the energy to do anything about it.

"Come here," he says as he crosses to where she is and offering her his good arm. She doesn't need it, she could be upright in a fraction of a second, but she takes it anyway, using him as leverage to stand.

"Gendry I..." she doesn't remember what she was going to say only that she's shocked quiet as he wipes the tears from where they were falling at the corners of her eyes with his thumbs.

Leaning down, he kisses over where the tears were a moment before, one side then the next. "Shush, no talking right now."

She lets herself be guided closer to his straw bed, all the while, he begins to take off layer after layer of her leathers. Her belt drops to the floor first, her dagger and Needle, bent as it is, falls with it, almost the rest of her outer clothing follows.

He wets a cloth and takes a pot of healing salve from a table and joins her as she sits down on the bed. "Do you need to be stitched up?" His fingers halting when he slips his pointer finger through a gash in her under tunic touching the cut she has that extends from her back to the curve of her shoulder. She shakes her head. Nothing was that deep.

He pulls the offending garment over her head to allow him a better view, leaving her only in her bindings and breeches. Washing her face before cleaning all her wounds. Then carefully he applies the salve liberally to that large cut and all the little ones he finds; it cools before it stings. Then it cools again as he blows cold air over it as it dries.

When he circles around her to reach a cut she has near her collar bone; her eyes don't meet his immediately, instead, fixed on Needle's bent tip. When they do meet his, the question almost on her tongue when he finishes, putting the salve on the floor and reaching for her, taking both her hands in his and gently squeezing them before he takes his thumbs and slowly rubs over her knuckles.

She finds her voice again as his eyes shift from her hands to meet her eyes. "Is it possible that you could..." his blue eyes distract her for a moment, "can you fix Needle?"

"Can I do it tomorrow m'lady? I'm a little tired tonight," he says with an amused laugh after he turns to look at Needle.

Letting go of her hands he stands and crosses to the sword, his confused expression is adorable as he picks it up, "How is that even possible?" indicating the bent tip.

"The Mountain took hold of it, Sandor distracted him before he could snap it," she explains softly as he puts it back down. 

Crossing over to a trunk, opening it quickly and grabbing the first thing inside he tosses it to her, it takes a moment for her to realize it's one of his shirts. "Thank you," she says as she moves to put it on. It smells of him, and she's willing to admit how comforting that is to her.

Suddenly his hands are aiding her, his smile as large as she has ever seen it when her head reemerges from inside the fabric. "There you are," he says, leaning in to place a light kiss on her forehead, making her stomach twist in the sweetest way possible, it also has something to do with the fact that he's taken off his own shirt.

He sits down next to her on the bed and begins to lay down, but before he has the chance to she pulls him up by his good arm, "No, no your turn."

She folds up the sleeves of the shirt before she rinses out the cloth he used to clean her wounds before doing the same process to him. He's ticklish in some of the areas that she works on and his laughter, even when bookended by sharp intakes of breath, is delightful, keeping a smile almost permanently on her lips.

She doesn't apologize for any of it till the end, “Sorry about all that, anymore I should know about?"

Only after he shakes his head does she let her head rest on his bicep, she sighs loudly in response to her next thought.

"Arya?" he asks quietly, almost in a whisper.

"We're alive," she explains, "I expected to die here, where it all started."

She can hear the hesitation before he speaks, "We're both alive, though, what does that mean?"

Taking her head off of his arm because if they're going to talk about this, she has to be looking into his eyes while they do. He's so open and willing to listen, and she attempts to be as well. 

He takes her hand before she begins to get the words out, "I wasn't fair to you when you asked before. I'm so sorry for how I answered you. I thought it would be easier if..." she shakes her head, not wanting even to picture what she'd planned for, "If one of us, if I didn't..." she can't make herself say the words now that it hasn't happened. 

From the soft look in his eyes, she knows he gets her meaning, that he knows what she was trying to do. Taking her free hand she reaches up to his face, holding his cheek in her palm, "I know you wouldn't want or wish me to be something I'm not, that was just an excuse. I knew what you meant."

He nods as she finishes, kissing the inside of her palm before he says, "I understand dear," so softly, her heart beats faster. He's telling the truth, she knows he is. How can one person be so good and kind and wonderful? The endearment just sweetens it all the more.

Bringing their clasped hands up to a cut he has just below his heart; her voice cracks as she thinks about what could have happened, "Just a bit higher or deeper and you would have probably died."

"I'm yours for as long as I breathe air, I promise you that," he says leaning down to press a small kiss on her lips, straightening before she has a chance to kiss him in return.

"I've been in love with you for so long. Since before I even knew what my feelings were, and I want..." she's never imaged she would get the chance to say these words out loud, "I want this with you."

She can't help but laugh as he pulls her down on the bed with him. She settles into the space at his right side, touching his face gently with her fingertips. "You have that same look on your face as you did the last time. Are you going to propose again m'lord?"

Instantly his nose scrunches in distaste, "Now please stop that," he says with a sigh, "the Arry I know calls me Gendry."

"Gendry," she whispers into his skin softly, causing him to chuckle.

His fingers find their way into her hair, combing it through as best as can be expected, it's simple and soothing in a way and it's just so unquestionably something he would decide to do at this moment, it allows her to find the right words for what she wants to say next. 

Once what she's going to say is clear in her mind she clears her throat and looks up at him as his attentions to her hair slow to a stop, "Gendry, I'll marry you but only if you promise that we'll be equals in everything."

"We already are. I wouldn't want it any other way,” he says thoughtfully as she moves to rest her head in the crook of his neck and willing herself to commit this moment to memory. The feeling in her heart, the smell of heated metal that clings to his skin, the sensation of his body next to hers, the way he holds her to him almost desperately, like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he doesn’t.

"It was a mess, my proposal," he pauses clearly having an idea, "since we're equals," he begins to say, his voice so unsure and nervous, when she looks up at him again she can see the vulnerability and the want in his eyes as he finishes, "would you consider asking me this time?"

Surging forward, she captures his lips with her own. She finally allows herself to give in to the need she's been feeling since she saw him with his hammer fighting a half dozen Lannister men.

Kissing him has very quickly become one of her favorite things in the entire world, and after what he just asked, she's not going to be able to stop anytime soon. Not that she thinks he minds much with the way he's returning each kiss with the same passion and eagerness as she puts into them.

Only when he starts to trail kisses along her jaw and down her neck does she realize she still hasn't asked him.

The right words come to her when she shifts to look at his face. He's beautiful and kind, brave and gentle. He always has been. He makes loving him a joy.

He leans into her hand as she brings her fingers up to touch his now slightly longer hair. His reaction is all she wanted, and she'll get to see it forever.

"Marry me?" she asks, but it's not really a question at all. He begins to nod rapidly, and she almost gets distracted away from the rest of what she needs to say. "That's all I want Gendry, for you to be my family always," it's more a confession than anything else, but she suspects that he doesn't mind one bit.

"Yes, Arya, obviously yes, love, forever," each word punctuated with an enthusiastic kiss that warms her to her toes.

They stay like that for a long time. Long enough that she loses track of how many times they've kissed since he said yes. He has little bite marks down his neck now, when she put them there, he squirmed wonderfully underneath her gasping and begging for more. His lips are kissed red, and she's sure hers are too.

"There is so much I need to tell you about the time we were apart," she says into his neck during one of the moments they spend doing their best to catch their breath.

She can feel his smile grow against her skin, "Tell me whenever you're ready, I can guess at some of it, but I'd like to hear it from you," he says gently touching her scars through the fabric, "I have to tell you my story too." She's looking forward to hearing it all.

Being here with him like this makes her so relaxed she misses the sound of footsteps until they've almost reached the entrance to the tent. She tenses until she discovers Ser Davos is the source, "Gendry, lad, I was just speaking with Jon," he pulls back the fabric of the tent, "he's planning on going back into the city to look for..." he stops speaking as he sees them, an amused smile growing on his face, "Lady Arya." 

All Gendry is capable of at the moment is blushing madly.

It's up to her to bring order to this chaos it seems. "Ser Davos, your timing is impeccable, please let Jon know that my betrothed and I will be indisposed until morning and should not be disturbed," she wishes that she found it easier to act like Sansa sometimes. It's such a foreign act to her that both Gendry and Ser Davos are looking at her like she's grown a second head once she's done speaking, now she's the one who's blushing.

"Betrothed lad?" Ser Davis asks, eyes alternating between them, his expression softening.

Gendry looks at her, his eyes as soft as she's ever seen him before he replies, "Yes, betrothed."

"Well, may I be the first to offer my congratulations," Ser Davos says, he means it she can tell.

"Thank you, Ser," she says nodding once in his direction.

"I need to let Jon know to call off the search for you, my lady," he says before turning to leave, she can hear him mutter to himself, "I should have known to look here first," before the exiting the tent.

It only takes a moment before Gendry's teasing her, "Impeccable timing? Indisposed until morning? Who is this the woman I just agreed to marry?" He is trying so hard not to laugh she can tell.

"Shut up," she says, and he does, but mostly because she closes the distance between their lips.

He pulls back eventually, running his fingers through her hair before he begins to speak, "Jon's been going crazy trying to find you. No matter what Davos says, he's going to come running in on us. Should we get dressed again?" He's nervous about Jon that's why his voice is tight.

"I'm exhausted and so are you" she says, turning to pull up a blanket that was pushed to the end of the bed to cover them. She lays down on top of him again, "I don't know about you, but I don't plan on moving till morning, so unless you do something stupid like pick me up you're stuck right where I want you." Placing a kiss right over his heart as she finishes speaking, then another as far as she can reach on his cheek.

"But your brother..." he whispers it like he's sure just speaking about him will conjure Jon right in front of them.

"I'll protect you," she promises as she settles herself into the crook of his neck again and brings a hand up to trace the side of his face with her fingertips. I'll always protect you; she thinks to herself, like you protect me. 

She lets out a breathy gasp when he turns his face and presses kisses to each finger.

Something about what Ser Davos said when he left is bothering her, a puzzle she's trying to solve. That's when it hits her, "Davos knows about your proposal?" she asks quietly. 

He nods before he speaks, "He's the one that found me that night, drunk on my ass and having such a terrible time for a newly named lord," the pain from that night, she can hear it fresh in his voice. He sighs heavily as he continues, "It didn't take much for me to explain everything to him once I had sobered up a bit."

She takes hold of his chin and pulls back as she turns his head so she can look into his eyes as she says, "I'm so sorry for hurting you, bull." From the look in his eyes, she can tell she's been forgiven, but it doesn't mean she still doesn't regret causing him pain.

They stay like that, watching each other until she hears footsteps rapidly approaching the tent. Her eyes flick in that direction for a second but are back on Gendry's the next moment, she can feel him tense underneath her. 

She tells him to trust her wordlessly, and he just nods once as the tent opens. They both turn to the intruder; unsurprisingly it's Jon.

"Hello Jon," she says, breaking the silence and at least trying to keep this discussion under her control.

"When did this happen?" Jon asks, his voice and mannerisms tell her that he doesn't actually want to know the answer.

She can't keep in the sigh as she looks him over, "Jon, I understand we need to tell you everything, and we will, but it can wait till tomorrow. You haven't even seen to your wounds yet."

Just like that, it seems he notices for the first time the gash to his side and the tear in his pants above his knee, yes distract him more and he’ll be gone soon. "The dagger that ended both wars,” she says, pointing at it on the ground, "you or Jamie should present it to Daenerys."

"You'd give it away?” Gendry asks softly, making sure it’s what she wants.

So many have been killed with it, Baelish, The Night King, and Cersei come to mind. Then there are the spies and the assassins, three for Daenerys and her unborn child, two for Jon, and one for Gendry, all of them sent by Cersei particularly. 

All of that, well, it makes the decision easy. "It's covered in death; I don't want to carry that constant reminder anymore,” she shakes her head, looking at Jon as he bends to pick it up, the pain he's in is clear on his face. 

"Make me another?" she asks, turning back to Gendry, "Regular steel this time, no more Night Kings to kill, fortunately." Make me another so I can protect us from the world.

He just smiles in response, relaxing beneath her for the first time since the conversation with Jon began. That makes her happy. 

Jon shifts awkwardly, obviously unsure if he should leave or not. Gendry must notice this and taking the chance, speaks to Jon for the first time since he entered, "When you see the queen, do extend to her our congratulations on the victory.

"I will," Jon says, eyeing them still like he's trying to wrap his head around what it is he's seeing. If he had only paid more attention back in Winterfell, he'd have seen it then. 

Right now she's just tired of it, being studied. She needs him to leave them before she just decides to fall asleep with him still here. 

"Jon," she sighs, "he's telling you to fuck off and leave."

"Arry!" "Arya!" They both yell at the same time, and she can't hold in the laughter it causes. Gods the looks on both their faces, she's able to shock them still. 

She can only roll her eyes at the both of them, "Perhaps he isn't, but I am," she says once she's calmed again.

Still, Jon's looking at her like she's a mystery. It's becoming infuriating. "Why did he call you Arry?" he finally asks. The name sounds so strange coming from Jon.

"Cause that's what he calls me sometimes," is her reply, a simple answer to a simple question. 

Jon's expression softens at her words, still skeptical but willing to listen to her. "Are you sure about this? About him?" he asks, his voice more understanding than it was previously.

Turning toward Gendry, he's disheveled and wonderful and he's hers in the same way she is his. "He is all I am certain about right now," she admits softly.


End file.
